Desperate Journey
by write2like
Summary: A story about Callen's past.
1. Chapter 1

_This began as another one-shot to clear up another Callen backstory, but it's morphed into something more complex, so this is just the beginning. I'm not actually sure where it's going-although I have an idea-so I hope you will bear with me as this continues. As always, these characters are not mine; they belong to Shane Brennan and CBS, and many thanks to them for allowing writers like me to use them for new (in this case, old) stories. Reviews/comments are always welcome and appreciated!_

DESPERATE JOURNEY

Arkady entered Koffee Klatch, picked up the espresso he'd ordered online, and walked to the back where Callen waited. Arkady smiled, "This is one of my favorite coffee places in the city."

"I know," Callen said and then took a sip while Arkady sat down. Arkady took a sip, his face reflecting enjoyment for a fine espresso, and then waited for Callen to continue.

"You asked me to come, Callen, and here I am," he said, obviously at ease and waiting for the agent he had known many years to continue. Callen said nothing for a moment and Arkady tilted his head with a quizzical expression. "You want to ask me something, I think."

"I do."

"Okay, then. Ask away. I have no secrets from you, old friend," Arkady said with a wink. Callen shook his head, a smirk on his mouth, and took another sip. Arkady feigned distress, "I am hurt that you would think that I would not be completely honest with you after we have been through so much together, and," and Arkady smiled broadly, "since you and my darling daughter, Anna, are—what do they say in America?—a couple."

Callen rolled his eyes, "I appreciate that you approve of my relationship with Anna—although it would make no difference if you didn't—but this has nothing to do with her. I need some information about a personal matter, and I think you can help."

"I am a wealth of information, Callen, and whatever I know, I will tell you."

"It's about your work with my father."

"Oh," Arkady sighed and fingered his espresso cup. He looked directly at Callen, "You know everything I know already, Callen. Your father knew things about his work that I am sure he told you before -." Arkady dropped his eyes and studied the table. The silence lengthened until Callen broke it.

"He told me some things but not everything."

"Then what can I help you with?"

"What do you remember about the people who arrived in 1975?"

"That was a long time ago, Callen," Arkaday said and paused. Callen waited, so Arkady continued, "We did not keep records."

"I didn't think you did. What do you remember about the people who came that year, the families that came?"

Arkady hesitated and then understood. "You want to know if you and your sister came over that year with a refugee family that I helped relocate here in the United States."

Callen stood up and went to get a refill. Arkady was still waiting when Callen came back and sat down. Callen took a sip before he spoke. "My father told me a lot about my life—our life—before my mother was killed, but he didn't tell me much about his life and work. And he didn't tell me much about the time immediately after my mother's death." He took another sip and then paused. They both reflected on what Nikita might have told his son had he not been sent back to Russia.

Finally, Arkady spoke, and his voice was that of a friend, "Like I said, Callen, it was a long time ago.".

"I know," was all Callen said and watched his old friend. Arkady was clearly doing his best to mentally review those who had escaped and been resettled that year. "More espresso?" Callen asked.

Arkady smiled and held up his cup, "Please." Callen went to get it while Arkady took out a pen and began writing names on a paper napkin. When Callen returned, Arkady had over twenty names written down, and all the names had been lined out except one. It was one Callen already knew.

"Hans Schreiber?"

Arkady nodded.

"He came over with his family, didn't he?"

"With his wife."

"And they had children?"

Arkady took a sip of espresso. "You know, Callen, talking with you brings up a lot of old memories, some of them not very pleasant and some of them better forgotten."

Callen persisted. "Did they have children?"

"Once the refugees arrived, we didn't keep in contact with them—for obvious reasons—but we did do our best to keep track of them just to be sure that our operation hadn't been compromised. As far as we knew, all the refugees lived fairly ordinary lives without any problems." Arkady studied his espresso. "If they ever found themselves in trouble due to their 'immigration status,' there were ways for them to reach us, but we never had any of the refugees contact us through those channels except one." Arkady took a sip.

"Hans Schreiber? Why did he contact you?"

"There was something that happened, I think it was late spring or early summer, of 1975. But it was his wife who contacted us."

"About their children?"

Arkady's cup was empty. "No, they had no children when they came over. They had children later."

"So, why did she contact you?"

Arkady said quietly, "It may be nothing, Callen."

"You're right. It may be nothing," Callen agreed and waited.

Clearing his throat, Arkady continued, "In May or June of 1975, Hans was involved in an automobile accident, a serious automobile accident."

"How serious?"

"He was in the hospital for more than a month."

"In L.A., automobile accidents happen every day."

"His wife said he had been on his way to the airport. To pick up a package." Arkady said this as though the significance had suddenly become clearer to him after more than 40 years.

"A package?"

"A package." There was a significant pause. "The only 'packages' that ever came through the airport, Callen, were refugees."

Callen held his face emotionless while he considered what this might mean. When he spoke, his voice was calm, "And he wasn't picking up anyone you'd sent?"

"No. We never arranged for refugees to meet one another, and we would never have sent a refugee to pick up another refugee at the airport."

"But, maybe," Callen continued quietly, "he was picking up a package my father had sent."

"I do not know," Arkady looked at Callen with the understanding of one who'd also spent his life living behind lies, sacrificing whatever his life might have been for what it had become. "Like I said, Callen, it was a long time ago."

The silence hung between them until Callen brushed it aside. "And you never found out what the 'package' was?"

Arkady sounded slightly defensive when he answered, "It was several days before I even knew that Hans was in the hospital. His wife finally got in touch with me and told me where he was. I went to see him a few days later, but he was still unconscious. It was then that she told me that Hans had been on his way to the airport to pick up a package." He stopped. Everything began to come back with clarity. "I went to the airport, but there was no package, and there was no record of any package having been sent to Hans." He shrugged as he continued, "I never heard from Hans again, so I assumed that the package must have been something personal and let it go. I may have been wrong."

"You may have been, but you could just as easily have been right, Arkady. If you were wrong, there's no way you could have known. Like you said, it was a long time ago."

"It was, old friend. And sometimes it is best to leave the past where it belongs—in the past," Arkady said with the resolve of one who has tried many times to leave the past behind. He stood up. "Anna is making a special dinner for my birthday. You will be there?"

"Of course," Callen said and Arkady smiled.

"Good!" he said as he picked up his espresso cup. "Next time we talk, let us talk about something in the present," Arkady said, an obvious hint that he wanted to know more about his daughter's romantic relationship.

"If Anna wants to tell you something, she will."

Arkady whined, "She will not tell me anything even when I ask." Callen just chuckled quietly and shrugged his shoulders and then Arkady smiled. "She is, without a doubt, my daughter." With that, he said goodbye to Callen and, placing his espresso cup on the counter, left for home.

Callen watched Arkady leave but stayed, thinking about Hans Schreiber. What happened in 1975 may have had nothing to do with him and his sister, but there was only one way to know for sure.

XXXXXXXX


	2. Chapter 2

_I realize this is very short chapter, but it just seemed right to stop it at this point. I have a feeling the following chapter will be quite a bit longer, but since I haven't written it yet, I'm not sure. Thanks for reading and again, comment/reviews are always appreciated._

Chapter 2

Amy studied the faces of the men who approached the terminal gate where she and her brother waited. In her right hand she clutched the small photograph her father had given her of Hans Schreiber. Amy didn't know the man's name—her father had explained, as well as he could without giving her details that would endanger Amy or her brother, that the man had been given a new name in America, a name her father did not know, and that was why he had given her the photograph. But her father told her that this was the only man that she and her brother could trust, the only man they should leave the airport with. Her father had given her a responsibility beyond her age, but he had explained it to her as well as he could, and she was determined to fulfill her responsibility to her father and to her brother. A the day before she and her brother left for the United States, her father had called her into his study after Grisha had gone to sleep.

Amy, ready for bed, entered, and her father motioned for her to come over to him. When she did, he smiled and gently lifted her onto his lap. He smoothed her hair, and then his arms tightened around her and he closed his eyes. When he opened his eyes, Amy imagined that her father was going to cry, but that was impossible. She had never seen her father cry. Even when he told her a few months ago that they would never see their mother again, he didn't cry. Amy had. She had cried all that day and into the next, and her father had held her and rocked her gently, singing some of her favorite lullabies her mother had sung. In those first days after their mother's death, Amy had been angry with Grisha because, like his father, he hadn't cried. But her father had explained that Grisha was too young to really understand what had happened. Also, Grisha had seen his mother killed, and seeing someone killed often caused a person to try and forget, to repress what they had seen because it was too horrible. Amy didn't understand exactly what her father meant by this, but she believed him because she didn't think that her father had ever lied to her before and so she forgave Grisha for not crying. And she was determined that he would never see anything that horrible again.

"Amy," her father began, "I need you to be very strong, stronger than you have ever been."

"I know, Father, and I will be. I promise."

He closed his eyes again. When he opened them, he smiled, "I know you will be. You are the bravest child I have ever seen."

"Braver than Grisha?"

"Oh, yes. Grisha is brave, but you are braver, and I am trusting to you to take care of him."

"I will," she promised solemnly and then hugged her father as though she never wanted to let go.

His voice was different when he spoke, "You know how much I love you and your brother. I would never send you away if I didn't have to."

"I know. If you don't send us away, the people that killed mother might try to kill us."

"Yes, they might." His eyes glistened, but no tear fell. He was filled with sorrow and anger, sorrow at having to send his children thousands of miles away and anger that his daughter had to learn about the dangers of the world when she was still so young. She had lost her childhood, and he knew that Grisha might very well lose his. "It is better that you and Grisha are miles away and safe than with me and in danger."

Neither spoke again for several moments. He knew that Amy did not fully understand the consequences of what she was being asked to do, but he knew that Hans would make sure his children were safe. He had known Hans for several years before helping him escape to America, and Hans had promised to take care of Amy and Grisha until Nikita could join them. Nikita felt that he had done everything he could do to ensure the safety of his children, and getting them to safety was all he cared about now. Once they were safe, he could plan his next steps.

He stood up suddenly, Amy's arms draped around his neck, and carried her off to bed. He entered the room quietly so as not to wake Grisha who had finally fallen asleep, and gently laid her down. "Спокойной ночи," he said and gently kissed her on her forehead as he drew the covers up. "We have a long way to go tomorrow." And with those words, he silently slipped out and closed the door behind him.

Amy looked over at her brother. "I promise, Grisha, I will always keep you safe," she whispered and then turned on her side and tried to sleep.


	3. Chapter 3

_Thanks again for the comments! They're very much appreciated!_

Chapter 3

Now, Amy kept her eye on Grisha as he looked at the small picture book their father had packed while she watched the crowd for any sign of the man. After almost an hour had passed—and long after Grisha had put his book away and curled up on the floor, resting his head on his backpack—one of the airline employees approached them.

"Your uncle hasn't arrived yet?" the woman asked quietly so that she didn't disturb Grisha who was awake and watching her with curiosity.

"Not yet," Amy answered with more confidence than she felt, "but I'm sure he'll be here soon."

"Would you like to call him?"

Amy was puzzled. "He won't be home."

The woman smiled, "Of course he won't be if he's on his way to pick you up. Well, if he hasn't arrived within the next half hour, I'll need to call him, and if I can't reach him, I'll have to call someone else. It's not safe for you and your brother to be alone."

Amy smiled and thanked her, and when the woman went back to the counter, Amy sat silently for a few minutes and then nudged Grisha. He sat up. "What?"

"I have to go to the bathroom, and you need to come with me."

Grisha didn't argue. He stood up and started to follow Amy, but she stopped quickly. "Grisha," she said quietly, "don't leave your backpack. Someone might take it." And so he turned and picked it up and then began following his sister away from the terminal gate. When the woman at the counter saw them, she started to come after them but Amy waved and said clearly and loudly enough so that she could hear, "I'm just going to the bathroom. We'll be right back." The woman waved back and then stepped behind the counter and continued with her paperwork. Amy was sure that if they stayed at the airport and the man who was supposed to meet them didn't come, the authorities _would_ come and they would be sent back to Romania. She needed to make sure that she and Grisha disappeared, at least for awhile. Her father had given her the name of a man she could contact if something went wrong, and once she felt that they were safe, she would contact him. But first, they needed to get away.

Amy and Grisha walked down the corridor without a word carrying their backpacks, but when they passed the second bathroom, Grisha stopped. "I thought you had to go to the bathroom."

"I do, but I want to wait until we get closer to the street so we don't miss father's friend."

This satisfied Grisha and they continued their walk in silence. Finally, they could see the street through the glass doors, and Amy spotted a bathroom. They walked over and Amy took hold of Grisha's hand. He looked at her, confusion on his face. "I'm not a girl."

"Father made me promise to not leave you alone. Ever."

Knowing that this was what their father would want Amy to do, Grisha didn't hesitate to go in, and none of the women seemed to mind. Amy encouraged Grisha to use the facilities, and even though neither of them had developed a sense of self-consciousness about their bodies yet, Amy left Grisha alone in the stall. When he came out, they washed their hands thoroughly and left. As they continued to the street, Amy suddenly remembered that their father had told her to be sure and get rid of their passports when they arrived in Los Angeles because the passports weren't real. The only real thing about their passports were their names, but everything else was a lie: the birthdates, the address, being citizens of the United States. She and Grisha stopped and taking off her backpack, Amy took out their passports and dropped them in the nearest trash can. Then she picked up her backpack, took Grisha's hand again, and continued out the terminal.

When they reached the street, Amy looked to her right and saw something familiar, a bus stop. She had ridden buses in Romania with her father, and she was sure they wouldn't be much different in America.

The bus pulled up to the curb and when the doors opened, Amy pushed Grisha to enter first. He went up the steps and then took a seat at the front of the bus while Amy got some money out of her backpack and paid their fares. The bus driver was surprised to see two such young passengers, but relaxed when Amy spoke up.

"Our uncle couldn't pick us up." The driver nodded and Amy continued. "W need to meet him at the train station?"

"Union Station?"

"Yes," she replied with a smile. She had no idea where Union Station was, but she was sure that the train station would be filled with people and that meant that they wouldn't be noticed. It would give her time to think.

XXXXXX

Amy was wrong. Union Station, although huge, was almost completely empty. As she and Grisha walked through the enormous rooms, Amy noticed that they were attracting the attention of almost every adult they passed. They couldn't stay here. Amy went to the information desk. "Is there a library nearby?"

The older man's eyes twinkled. "Yes, little lady, there is a library nearby, but where are your parents?"

Amy said nothing for a moment, and then she smiled. "Thank you," she said and then taking Grisha's hand, they headed for the entrance. The older man watched them go for a moment and as they neared the doors that led to the street, he picked up the phone.

XXXXXX

It was easy for two young children to disappear on the streets of Los Angeles, especially when all they had were the clothes they were wearing and two small backpacks. Once outside Union Station, Amy and Grisha disappeared into the noontime crowd of Angelinos and tourists who had spilled onto the surrounding streets on their way to work or to eat or to simply enjoy the California sun. They wandered over to nearby Olvera Street, wondering at the scene in front of them: the colors, the music, the smells. Their last meal had been in West Germany. Now, they were more than 6,000 miles away in a foreign country eating their first tacos.


	4. Chapter 4

_Thank you for the reviews/comments! They are always appreciated. I'm trying to keep this story so that it makes sense with what's happened/known in the series, but it's sometimes tricky. :)_

Chapter 4

Amy looked through her backpack again. She took everything out and placed it carefully on the library table. Grisha, lying on the floor nearby and engrossed in the books he'd pulled from their shelves, was unaware of his sister's growing despair. She couldn't find it. She couldn't find the paper her father had given her with the name and the number of the man she should call if something went wrong. She quietly went through Grisha's backpack in the slim chance that it was there, but she was doubly disappointed. She remembered the man's name—Arkady—but her father had not written down his last name and she hadn't memorized the phone number. Amy knew that her father had worried that she was too young, that he was asking too much of her, but she had promised. She had promised him that she would keep them both safe until he could come and join them, but she never thought that she would have to do it alone. And now she was failing, she was failing him and she was failing Grisha. She tried her hardest not to cry, but at least when she couldn't stop her tears, they fell silently.

XXXXXX

Amy had decided where they would spend the night. Once she had stopped crying, she calmed down and used every instinct and every bit of knowledge she had ever learned by watching her father. She knew the first thing she needed was more information about the city of Los Angeles, so she spent most of her time in the library looking at maps and bus schedules and telephone books. But she also spent time reading books with Grisha. He loved books, and she was so happy that he was too young to understand that they were all alone. Grisha seldom spoke after their mother's death, so when he laughed now at some of the pictures, Amy smiled. By the time they left the library, Amy was feeling more confident that they would be all right until their father arrived.

XXXXXX

The Cathedral of Saint Vibiana was not as large as the cathedral Amy had visited in Romania, and it looked very different from the outside, but once she and Grisha entered, it looked more familiar. There wasn't as much gold or as many pictures on the walls, but there was a table with fancy silver and gold candlesticks and pitchers for the priests and plain wooden seats for the people who listened to them. The interior was almost empty; there were only three people scattered throughout. It was so quiet—except for the snoring of a man sitting in the very last pew—that Amy's and Grisha's footsteps echoed through the church. They walked to the left of the benches until they reached a row about midway between the altar and the last row. Amy slid her backpack off first and then helped Grisha take his off. She put the backpacks under the pew and then pulled a few of the kneeling cushions from under the pew in front of them and used them to make a small mattress for Grisha on the floor. He settled down and she laid her thin jacket over him.

"Me (that was the name he called his sister), I'm not cold."

"But you may be later on," she told him as she settled down on the floor, the top of her head almost touching the top of his. He pulled her jacket up closer to his chin.

"Goodnight, Me."

"Goodnight, baby brother," she whispered and stayed awake until she heard the slow, steady breathing that indicated Grisha was asleep. Then she closed her eyes and dreamed of tacos and Romania.

XXXXXX

Amy was awakened in the morning by the monsignor who offered both of them breakfast and a chance to tell him why they were sleeping in the church. Over cereal, orange juice, and toast, Amy explained that they had come to America to meet their uncle, but that he hadn't been able to pick them up at the airport.

"Did you call him?"

Amy looked embarrassed. "I lost his number."

"I can call information."

"I only know him as Uncle Arkady."

"Hmm, I see. That does present a problem."

"But our father is coming in a few days."

"Ah! That is very good news! Where is he coming from?"

"He's out of the country, in Europe, but he's coming on Saturday."

"Well, that is just a few days from now," the monsignor said as he took their dishes to the kitchen counter and thought.

"We won't be a problem, I promise," Amy said.

"I know," he smiled and then answered Amy's unasked plea, "and you and your brother are welcome to stay here until your father arrives."

Amy felt such a sense of relief that she did something she had never done before: she hugged a stranger.

"Now, if you don't have anything else to do," he said with a broad grin, "I could certainly use some help around the church."

"I'll be glad to help, but baby brother . . . . '

"Oh, I have something special for him to do."

That day Amy helped gather hymnals, dust the pews, polish some of the silver and gold on the altar, and arrange flowers. Grisha, meanwhile, spent most of his day looking at the children's books the monsignor had recently purchased for the church's children's room. It was a task he thoroughly enjoyed.

Later that night, while Amy and Grisha slept in the church nursery on soft, clean mattresses, the monsignor met with the archbishop.

"What do you know about them?" the archbishop asked the monsignor.

The monsignor hesitated because he realized that other than their names, he really knew nothing about them—and he didn't even know that the names the little girl had given him were their own. After a few moments, the archbishop sighed and spoke to his fellow clergyman with kindness. "I understand that you acted out of a Christian sense of love and duty, but we must also consider the position and well-being of our Church, upon which are parishioners depend for their spiritual salvation. If anything should happen to these children while in our care . . . ."

"You are right, Your Grace. I should not have placed the Church in a position where my actions might bring harm to it and to those it serves."

"It is not a fault to act as Christ himself would, Monsignor, but today there are government agencies designed to handle cases such as these. The Church can still offer these children spiritual support, but we must ensure that every opportunity to be reunited with their parents is provided, and the government has the resources to do this work. We do not."

"Of course." The monsignor paused and after a moment of silence continued, "Tomorrow, I will call Children's Protective Services."

XXXXXX

The next morning, Amy knew that something had happened during the night. The monsignor was quiet and although he smiled, the happiness that she had seen the day before had disappeared. He fixed their bowls of cereal and glasses of orange juice again, but this morning Amy and Grisha ate in silence. Amy sensed that the monsignor was anxious, as if waiting for someone or something, and she realized that she and Grisha had to leave, and leave soon.


	5. Chapter 5

_My apologies for taking so long to continue this story. A lot has been happening in my personal life, but things seems to be settling down and I hope to get back on track with all my stories._

They went back to their bedroom and Amy helped Grisha pack his knapsack and then quickly packed her own.

"Are we going to eat breakfast before we leave, Me?" was the only question Grisha asked.

Amy smiled but shook her head, "We can't, G. We have to leave now so that we can meet Papa."

At the mention of meeting their father, Grisha slung his knapsack onto his back and waited for Amy to lead the way. In the large rectory kitchen, the monsignor laid out the bowls and spoons and set the toaster on the counter and then poured the orange juice. He had enjoyed having children visit, but he knew they would be much better off with CPS. Still, he would miss them. After almost fifteen minutes had passed and the children still hadn't shown up for breakfast, he went off to see where they were.

When he arrived in the bedroom, the beds were neatly made, but the room was empty and the children were gone.

XXXXXXXX

Out on the street, Amy led the way to Wilshire Boulevard. Grisha didn't say anything about leaving the church, but he was glad he had grabbed an extra muffin when they left the table. Amy knew from one of the city maps she had studied at the library that Wilshire Boulevard would take them close to the ocean. From there, she was sure they could get another bus. She knew their father was going to come for them, and that he would come by plane, so they needed to be closer to the airport. Besides, her father had told Amy before she and Grisha left West Germany that Los Angeles was famous for its beaches. Now, they would see if he was right.

XXXXXXXX

Venice Beach was unlike any beach Amy or Grisha had ever seen. They'd both seen a boardwalk before, but past the boardwalk closer to the water was a broken down pier. Some of the pier posts were still standing, but many of them were covered with graffiti and had been heavily damaged by fire. In the water nearby, bands of surfers road the waves. Amy didn't think going near the pier was a good idea, so she steered Grisha further south along the boardwalk. They moved among the people unnoticed, but why would they be noticed? A young girl and boy didn't stand out in this crowd of street performers, skateboarders, oiled body builders, haggling merchants, sidewalk musicians, hippies, and curious tourists.

After almost an hour of walking, Amy, holding Grisha's hand, turned into a small convenience store.

The store was small and crowded with cigarettes, soda, toiletries, and cheap souvenirs. Amy walked to the counter by the cash register and picked up two chocolate candy bars, then took some money from her knapsack and handed it to the cashier. While she put the candy into her knapsack and the change in her pocket, she asked, "Where can we catch a bus to the airport?"

The cashier hesitated a moment, as if he was deciding whether or not to call the authorities about two possible runaways, but then smiled and decided he had enough problems in his life without getting involved in something that was none of his business. He pointed away from the beach, "Turn left at the next street and follow it until you reach Ocean, then turn right until you see the bus stop. Bus 3 will take you to the airport."

Amy and Grisha left the store and when they reached the next street, turned away from the beach. On their way to the bus stop, they passed small bungalows, some with small wooden fences, some needing paint, and some with motorcycles and rusting VW vans parked in their driveways. The whole neighborhood smelled a little like salty burnt toast, and small pieces of trash and discarded needles and used condoms lay scattered in the gutters and along the edge of the sidewalk. Amy did not want them to get caught in this neighborhood when the sun went down, so when Grisha stopped for a toy car he saw half-buried in the dirt next to a chain link fence, she hurriedly helped him dig it out so they could keep walking.

When they got off the bus at the airport almost an hour later, Amy led the way to the terminal where international flights arrived. They retraced the steps they had taken not many days before to the gate they had passed through when they had first arrived. It was late in the afternoon and the terminal was crowded as Amy and Grisha wove their way through the people and finally settled on seats near a window that looked out across the runways.

"Are you waiting for someone?" the airline desk attendant who had watched them get settled asked as he stood in front of Amy. Grisha glanced up at him briefly, but then turned back to the toy car he'd gotten out of his knapsack and finished wiping off the last bit of dirt.

"We're waiting for our father," Amy answered quietly and then turned away and looked out the window.

"Do you know when he's arriving?" the attendant persisted.

Amy knew that if she didn't handle these questions convincingly, he would likely call the authorities and that wouldn't do. She turned back to him. "Yes, we do," she stated firmly and then added, "but he taught us never to talk to strangers, even those who seem friendly." She stared at him until he smiled wanly and then turned away and retreated back to the customer counter where he was immediately engaged by an irritated passenger. Grisha, oblivious to the mild skirmish Amy had just won, now imagined his car traveling through the Romanian countryside and the streets of Los Angeles.

XXXXXXXX

At the end of almost two hours, the desk attendant's shift came to an end, and he cast one more glance at Amy and Grisha and made a slight motion in their direction while he spoke to the attendant replacing him. As the new desk attendant took his place at the counter, he began helping passengers check-in for their upcoming departure. About a half hour after the last passenger boarded the plane, Amy put the book she'd been reading away and gently woke Grisha who was curled up on the floor under the seat. His knapsack pillowed his head and the toy car had slipped through his fingers and lay beside him on the floor. Now awake he stretched slightly, sat up although still groggy, and carefully put his car into his knapsack before closing it securely again.

"I'm hungry," he said as he slipped his arms through the straps and stood up.

"I know," Amy replied as she stood up and hoisted her own knapsack onto her shoulders. She smiled and took his hand. "Let's go get something to eat."

"Are we leaving before Father arrives?"

"Only to get something to eat. Then we'll be back." Amy hated lying to Grisha, but she knew they couldn't stay any longer at the airport. The new desk attendant had already glanced over at them several times and once the passengers had left the waiting area, he had almost approached them before being stopped by someone who couldn't remember the gate where he was to meet his friends who were arriving from England in a few minutes. Amy had already decided that after they got something to eat, they would head to the beach and sleep under the watchful eyes of the evening stars.

XXXXXXXX

The next morning, Amy woke to find Grisha gone. His knapsack was beside her and the little jacket he had worn when he went to sleep, but that was all. Stumbling as she stood up, she forced the panic rising in her down so that she could think clearly. Nothing indicated that anyone had taken him in the night. She was sure he would have called for help and that she would have heard him. Besides, she had not been disturbed. But what if someone had only wanted Grisha? She usually woke at the slightest sound, but she had been so tired. If something had happened to him …. She knew she would have to go to the authorities. She was just starting to walk up the beach, trying to think of what she would say so that she and Grisha wouldn't be sent away or arrested, when she saw something in the surf. Was it a body? She almost stopped breathing and then she started to run. In a moment she saw Grisha scramble out of the breaking waves completely naked, his clothes in a small pile on the sand nearby. He grabbed his clothes and ran toward her and then slowed when he saw the anger on her face. Amy tried to maintain her big sister scowl, but she was so glad to see him that when she reached him, she wrapped him in her arms. He was still naked, dripping, and now slightly shivering. After she hugged him for several minutes so tightly that he thought he might get bruises, she grabbed him by his shoulders, held him at arm's length and said slowly and clearly, "Don't you ever do that again, G."

"Go in the ocean?"

"No," she said emphatically. "Leave without telling me where you're going."

"But you were sleeping."

"Then you wake me up."

"Alright."

"Promise me, baby brother."

"I promise," Grisha answered quietly.

"Good," Amy said and smiled just a little. "Now get dressed," she told him and then turned and started to walk back to their belongings, a huge sigh of relief escaping from her small frame.

Most of the salt water had beaded off Grisha's body after Amy's hug. He grabbed his shirt and quickly wiped his buttocks and legs dry and then pulled on his shorts, slipped his damp shirt over his head, and ran across the sand to his sister.


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6

 _As always, thanks for the reviews and your patience. I started two different stories at about the same time, and so it's been hard to write the chapters as frequently as I'd like, BUT that's my own fault and_ _I've enjoyed writing them both (and have already started another). I do feel that, even though I haven't written it yet, this story is coming to an end soon._

That morning, after a breakfast of muffins, milk, and fruit juice, Amy and Grisha took a bus to Santa Monica and walked down Ocean Boulevard. The day was bright and sunny. They walked a few blocks along the sidewalk crowded with people on their way to work or meetings or simply shopping. Amy was mesmerized by the merchandise in the store windows, but Grisha was fascinated by the cars on the street. There were so many different models and colors he wished he could go for a ride in every one of them. After they had walked several blocks, they turned and headed to the beach. Because it was a weekday, there weren't many tourists to be seen. Skateboarders, weightlifters, sunbathers, transients, and a few locals and college kids flowed between Venice and Santa Monica along the boardwalk, but nobody paid attention to Amy and Grisha as they walked across the sand and down to the pier. A lot of the pilings were rotten, covered with gashes and graffiti, but Amy loved the smell of the ocean and the sound of the waves. She sat down in front of a relatively clean piling and leaned back, listening to the seagulls and the waves, and watching Grisha as he built a racetrack in the damp sand and raced his car against an imaginary field of challengers. In a few moments, with the warmth of the sun on her face and the sound of the waves in her ears, Amy fell asleep. Grisha continued to play until he heard the bell of the ice cream vendor and saw him pushing his cart along the boardwalk. He glanced at Amy. She was still sleeping peacefully. He knew she would want him to wake her, but Grisha was sure he could make it to the vendor's cart and back before she woke up, and he really wanted an ice cream. He quietly rummaged in his knapsack and found a crumpled dollar bill at the bottom. Leaving the toy car in the sand and his knapsack beside Amy, he ran to catch the vendor as he pushed his cart toward Venice.

As Grisha took a bite of his Eskimo Pie and slid the change into his pocket, he noticed two uniformed men watching him. He wasn't sure who they were, but they started to quicken their pace as they approached him. They looked as though they might be policemen; he'd seen policemen back home. Suddenly, one of them called to him. "Young man, can we talk to you?"

Grisha hesitated a moment and then turned and ran, still holding his ice cream. The two men started after him and in about 100 yards caught him. One of the men grabbed him by the shoulders while the other stepped in front of him and knelt. Grisha's ice cream had lost most of its chocolate coating while he was running, and the vanilla ice cream was dripping down the stick onto his hand. The kneeling man pulled a tissue out of a pocket and gently wiped the ice cream from Grisha's hand while he tried to draw out some information from him without frightening him.

"Whoa, son. We're police officers and we just want to talk to you. What's your name?"

Grisha took a bite of his ice cream but said nothing.

The man continued, "Where are your parents? Are they here at the beach with you?"

Grisha remained silent and continued to eat his ice cream.

"How old are you?"

The man gently holding Grisha's shoulders spoke up, "I don't think you're going to get anything from him, Jack, at least not until he's finished his ice cream."

Jack stood up and nodded in agreement, "I think you're right, Ray. Still, we can't leave him here alone."

"I'm not alone," Grisha blurted out and immediately was sorry.

"So," Ray turned Grisha around to face him, "your parents are with you?"

"Yes," Grisha lied.

"Good," Jack said as Grisha licked the last of the ice cream, and Jack took the stick out of Grisha's hand and dropped it in a nearby trash can. "Let's go find them."

As Grisha led the police further down the boardwalk away from Amy, he hoped that she was awake and following them. He glanced over his shoulder once, but when he saw one of the policemen follow his glance, he didn't do it again. When they reached one of the parking lots next to the boardwalk with stairs leading to Arizona St., Grisha knelt down as if he'd stepped on something with his bare feet. The two officers relaxed a little, and Grisha suddenly broke away out of their grasp and bolted across the parking lot and up the stairs. If they caught him, Grisha was sure that they would take him away and he would never see Amy or his father again, so he ran as fast and as far as he could. By the time the two policemen reached the top of the stairs, Grisha was gone.

XXXXXXXXXX

Amy woke with a start when a rogue wave broke further onto the sand and splashed her toes. She realized that she must have been asleep for some time because the back of her neck was stiff from leaning awkwardly against the piling. The sun was still high in the sky, but when she looked over at Grisha's raceway, she saw only the toy car and his knapsack next to her. She scrambled to her feet and turned 360 degrees. Nothing. She had no idea how long he'd been gone or where he'd gone. Amy grabbed up both their knapsacks and tried not to let panic set in as she walked toward the boardwalk. She wanted to call out his name, but she was afraid to do it because she was sure it would attract the attention of the lifeguard in the tower a few feet down the beach. When she reached the boardwalk, she glanced in both directions, and even though it wasn't very crowded, there was still no sign of Grisha. Maybe, she thought, he went to the public restrooms sitting just off the boardwalk about fifty feet from where she stood. She started in that direction when one of the weightlifters using a set of free weights paused in his workout and got her attention.

"Hey, I'm guessing that little guy you were with earlier is your brother?"

"Yes, he is" she said."I fell asleep."

"He ran off," he said and pointed to the distant stairs leading up to Santa Monica.

"Ran off?" she repeated as though she couldn't believe what she had just been told.

"Yea. Two cops stopped him after he bought his ice cream bar and walked with him for a short distance, and then he ran off," he said with a shrug as he returned to his routine.

Amy blamed herself for falling asleep. Of course Grisha ran. Their father had told them when he put them on the plane to avoid the police until they had been picked up by his friend. It wasn't because the police were bad; it was because the police would ask questions, and they wouldn't have the answers, but his friend would. But his friend hadn't picked them up, would never pick them up, and with no way to contact him or their father, they found themselves alone in Los Angeles waiting for their father to arrive. Amy had promised their father that she would watch over Grisha, and she wasn't going to let anything make her break that promise. As she ran toward the stairs, she prayed that they would be together again and safe before the night came. She didn't know how she would find him, only that she had to. Her little brother was alone and lost and needed her.


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter 7

 _This story is coming to an end, and we know that it's not going to be a happy one, but this is just one of the experiences that makes Callen who he is. I hope I've done Amy justice because I love her character even though we never really knew her in the series. Thanks, as always, for your comments and reviews!_

When Amy reached the street, Grisha was nowhere in sight. He could have gone in any direction, down any street. Where should she start? She turned left and walked a few blocks down Ocean to California and called his name. Nothing. Maybe he was hiding somewhere, waiting until he thought it was safe to come out. She remembered that when they played hide and seek at home, she almost never found him. The only reason she won most of the time was because she was faster and could catch him before he reached home safely. The thought of them playing made her smile, but then her expression became serious again as she tried to think about what he might do. There was no one they knew and they hadn't stayed anywhere here except the beach, but she was sure he wouldn't go back there—not yet, anyway. But, he would know that she would come looking for him, so he would go somewhere she could find him. But where? And then she remembered the automobile dealer showroom. It was on Santa Monica Boulevard just a few blocks past Lincoln. Grisha loved cars and he had pleaded with her to let them walk by it every time they came to Santa Monica even if it was out of the way. It was a small thing, so they had always walked past it for him. Grisha had fallen in love with the bright yellow convertible with the black leather seats in the showroom window. He told Amy that some day he was going to have a car just like that. In fact, they had walked by that window this morning before going to the beach, and he had stared at his car so long that a salesman had finally come out, taken him into the showroom, and let him sit in the front seat for a few minutes. Grisha couldn't reach the pedals, but he clutched the steering wheel and turned it as though he was driving down Lombard Street. All the salesmen stood by, laughing, and Amy hadn't seen Grisha smile so much and have so much fun since before their mother's death. Finally, the sales manager came out of his office and reminded his staff that they had work to do, and the salesman picked Grisha out of the car and set him down on next to Amy.

"You remember that when you're ready to buy this car, you come see me," the salesman said with a wink and put out his hand. Grisha hesitated, then shook it and smiled, but didn't say anything. Amy gave the salesman a smile, as well, and led Grisha out of the showroom and back onto the street.

Remembering this made Amy feel less anxious as she headed up Arizona because she was sure that the showroom was where she would find Grisha. Just before she reached Lincoln, the two police officers who had been looking for Grisha exited a small coffee shop directly in front of her. They were so close Amy almost bumped into them, and as soon as she saw them, she wanted to run. She ducked her head slightly and started to pass when one of them put his hand on her shoulder and stopped her. He turned her around to face them, and his partner knelt down so that his face was level with hers.

The officer kneeling in front of her said, "My name's Officer Roberts. What's your name?"

Amy's heart felt like it was beating a hundred beats a minute, and her mouth was dry. "Amy," she answered.

"And what's your last name, Amy?" he continued.

Amy licked her lips and tried to think of a name other than her own, and then she remembered the name of the car dealer. "Ford," she said.

"Amy Ford?"

"Yes," she replied with a confidence she did not feel.

Officer Roberts stood up and his partner, Officer Yates, who had his hand on her shoulder asked, "How old are you, Amy?"

Amy knew that whatever age she gave, she would be in trouble. She hesitated. "Ten."

"And why aren't you in school, Amy?" he asked.

She couldn't tell them she was from Romania, that she didn't belong here, so she shrugged and said nothing.

"Do you live around here?"

She looked at the ground and didn't answer. The officers looked at each other.

"Well, Amy, Officer Roberts and I are going to find out where you live and then take you home now because your parents probably think you're in school and would be very worried if they knew that you were out on the street by yourself."

They positioned themselves on either side of her and each held her shoulders gently but firmly. As they walked away from the coffee shop, going in the wrong direction, Amy suddenly blurted out, "I have to find my baby brother!"

Officer Roberts moved ahead of her and kneeled in front of her. "Your little brother was with you?"

"Yes," she said almost in tears. "And now he's alone because two policemen were chasing him on the boardwalk and he ran off and I have to find him!"

Both officers knew that she was being honest and that her distress was genuine. Officer Roberts put both hands on her shoulders and tried to calm her. "We will find him, Amy. I promise."

Officer Yates leaned down slightly and spoke to her, "Do you have any idea where he might be?"

"Yes. I think he might be at the automobile showroom on Santa Monica. That's where I was going."

The officers looked at each other, and then Officer Roberts asked, "The Ford showroom?"

Amy didn't look at him when she replied, "Yes."

"Is Ford really your last name, Amy?" Officer Roberts asked, a hint of skepticism in his voice.

She looked at him, and her voice was strong and didn't waver because she knew what she needed to do to protect herself and Grisha, and she had promised her father. "Yes."

"Alright," Officer Roberts said and gave his partner a look that said he wasn't going to push the matter anymore right now. He stood up. "Amy, you come with us and we'll go see if your brother's at the showroom."

"I should go alone," Amy said with so much conviction that both officers hesitated for a moment, but they knew that they needed to follow procedure, and they stuck with their original decision. Besides, having chased her brother, they were sure that if they let her go alone, they wouldn't see her or her brother again.

They walked to their squad car that was parked around the corner on Lincoln Court. Officer Roberts opened the rear door and Amy had no option but to scoot onto the back seat with the knapsacks. Before closing the door, he told Amy to fasten her seat belt, and once she did, he closed the door and took his seat next to his partner. Officer Yates turned around and with a smile said to Amy, "Now, let's go find your brother."

They pulled away from the curb and drove around the block and then turned left onto Santa Monica. A few blocks ahead of them on the right was the sign that towered over the Ford dealership.

XXXXXXXXXX

After Grisha reached the streets, he ran into an alley off one of the smaller streets and hid behind some trash cans for almost fifteen minutes before he stepped out. When he went to the end of the alley, he checked carefully to make sure that the policemen were nowhere in sight. Once he was sure they weren't anywhere near him, he tried to think. He was afraid to go back to the beach. What if they told other police to look for him? But he needed to go somewhere Amy could find him because he knew that as soon as she realized he was gone, she would come looking for him. And he had to help her. He thought a few minutes and then he knew where he would go—he would go to the bright yellow car.

As he walked the several city blocks to the car, Grisha wished he'd put his shoes on when he went to get his ice cream, but he didn't realize then that he would be running away and into the city. When he reached the automobile showroom, there was his bright yellow car. Grisha smiled and sat down on the sidewalk, his back resting against the stucco wall. He watched the traffic pass by and every few moments would look at his car, dreaming of the day he would own one just like it. None of the other cars he saw while he waited compared to his.

As the minutes went by and Amy still didn't come, Grisha stood up and stretched his legs. He looked in the direction he had come—the directions she would come—but he didn't see her. And then his imagination began to create scenarios that frightened him. Maybe she couldn't come. Maybe something had happened to her. Maybe she was in trouble. Maybe the police were after her. He couldn't wait any longer. He would go back to the beach to see if she needed help, and if he didn't find her, he would come back and wait. He had to make sure that she was alright. He took one last look at his bright yellow car and then started back down Santa Monica to the beach. A few minutes later, he saw a police car and he ducked behind a parked car and watched it pass. Once it had passed and he was sure he hadn't been seen, Grisha stood up and started running as fast as he could to find Amy. Behind him, the police car pulled into the Ford showroom parking lot, and Officer Roberts and Amy got out and went inside.


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter 8

 _So this is the final chapter of this story. One of the most difficult things about writing this was remembering that it was set in the 1970s-before personal computers and cell phones were the norm and before there was the internet that we know today. Given the state of government agencies back then-the paperwork and phone calls and volume of workload-it doesn't seem quite so hard to believe that two children could be separated. Anyway, it was fun to write and as always, comments/reviews are appreciated!_

When the police car came to a stop, Officer Roberts got out and opened the rear door for Amy. They walked into the showroom and were met by the sales manager.

"How can I help you, officer?"

Officer Roberts' hand rested lightly on Amy's shoulder as he spoke, "We're looking for a young boy." He turned to Amy, "How old is your brother?"

"Five."

"She thought he might have come here."

The sales manager smiled at Amy and then spoke to the officer. "I recognize the young lady and I would certainly recognize her brother. He has a deep appreciation for cars, especially the yellow one," he pointed to the bright yellow sports car in the window, "but I'm afraid I haven't seen him since this morning." The officer cocked his head and the sales manager explained with a broad smile, "Oh, they walked past our showroom this morning before we had opened and took a few moments to admire the merchandise."

Officer Roberts turned to Amy, "Is that true?"

"Yes. We walk by whenever we come downtown because my brother loves cars." She looked around the showroom for the salesman that had let Grisha sit in the car, but she didn't see him. Both Officer Roberts and the sales manager noticed.

The sales manager spoke to Amy, "Are you looking for Mr. Mitchell? Our salesman that let your brother sit in the car?"

"Yes."

"He's not here today." He spoke to Officer Roberts in his best man-to-man voice, "His wife went into labor with their first child early this morning."

"Well," Officer Roberts said as he took out a business card and handed it to the sales manager, "thank you for your time. If you do see Amy's little brother, please give us a call."

"Of course," he said as he took the business card. Officer Roberts and Amy turned to go, and the sales manager called after them, "Officer." They turned. "What's the boy's name?"

Officer Roberts suddenly realized that he hadn't asked Amy for this information. He looked down at Amy who said to the sales manager, "We call him G."

"G?" the sales manager said.

She nodded and Officer Roberts smiled and shook his head. Kids.

The sales manager smiled and understood, "I'll call you if 'G.' any time today or tomorrow."

"Thank you," Officer Roberts said as he and Amy returned to the police car. But Amy knew tomorrow wouldn't be soon enough. She had to find her little brother today.

XXXXXXXXXX

As Grisha got closer to the pier, he saw that Amy and the backpacks were gone. Even his toy car was gone, so he was sure she had left to look for him. He walked up and down the beach first, just to make sure that she wasn't in the water or sitting somewhere she could get more sun, but he didn't see her anywhere. But if she didn't go looking for him at the car showroom, where did she go? He thought. Maybe she went back to the little corner shop where they bought breakfast. He would go there first and then retrace their steps as well as he could remember then. As he started back to the stairs that led to the streets of Santa Monica, he hoped he would find her soon. He was starting to get hungry.

XXXXXXXXXX

At the police station, the duty officer was getting perturbed. Officers Roberts and Yates had driven around Santa Monica for almost half an hour before they realized that Amy was lying. She didn't live on any of the streets they had driven and based on the past half hour, she wasn't about to tell either of them where she did live. So, they had driven back to the station and given her over to the duty officer. It was his job to keep her in sight until someone from Child Protective Services arrived.

He held the two backpacks behind his desk. The officers had found nothing to complete the identification of Amy or her missing little brother. They had found a small car with the letter G crudely scratched on the bottom, and she had confirmed that it belonged to her missing brother. Outside of that, they found only a few clothes, a few small, thin picture books, a few maps and leaflets of various local landmarks and sections of the city, a few stubs of bus tickets, and some money.

Amy squirmed in the wooden chair and watched the officers milling about the room. She realized that getting away would be impossible, so she waited. There wasn't anything else to do.

XXXXXXXXXX

Grisha had been to the corner shop, walked the boulevard, and now waited at a bus stop. He had watched two buses come and go, but he hesitated to get on them. He didn't believe Amy had gone back to the airport to meet their father without him. He fingered the change in his pocket from his ice cream purchase earlier that day and wondered if it would be enough for his fare back to the church because it was getting late, and he didn't want to sleep on the beach or the streets of Santa Monica alone.

XXXXXXXXXX

The social worker was sitting at the duty officer's desk. She turned to Amy, "These are all your possessions, Amy?" Amy said nothing. The social worker turned back to the duty officer, "I see what you mean. Well, that's alright."

She finished completing the paperwork and slid a form over to the duty officer who signed it. After gathering the papers and putting them into her worn briefcase, she stood and reached for Amy's hand. She waited and then the duty officer said, "I can take you or you can go with the lady, Amy."

Amy looked from the officer to the social worker and stood up without a word. The social worker motioned for Amy to come with her, and she did, but she didn't take her hand.

XXXXXXXXXX

The sun had already set when Grisha arrived at the church where he and Amy had stayed after their arrival in Los Angeles. He'd walked several blocks until a woman paid his fare, and now he stood outside. Maybe Amy was inside, waiting for him. He reached up and grasped the large handle and pulled the heavy door open slowly and went inside. There were a few people scattered throughout, sitting quietly or sleeping. Grisha stayed in the back of the church. He chose a row and walked to the middle of the section and then crawled under a pew. He was now all alone for the first time since he'd arrived in Los Angeles. He laid awake for several hours expecting Amy to find him, but eventually he fell asleep on the hard tile floor and dreamed of his father, Amy, and Romania.

It was morning when one of the women volunteers who cleaned the church sanctuary brought the monsignor. He recognized Grisha immediately and woke him with a gentle nudge.

"Where is your sister, little one?"

"I don't know."

The monsignor helped Grisha crawl out from under the pew and then took him to the kitchen for some breakfast. He watched with kindness and worry as Grisha ate everything placed in front of him and more. He was still eating when the monsignor became aware of the archbishop standing silently in the doorway. The monsignor left Grisha's side, and he and the archbishop stepped out of view.

"Is this the same boy who you let stay with us earlier?"

"Yes, your Grace."

"He seems very hungry."

"I don't think he's eaten since yesterday morning."

"Didn't he have a sister with him then?"

"He did. He says he doesn't know where she is. Somehow they were separated."

Both men watched Grisha silently, and then the archbishop put his hand gently on the monsignor's arm, "I know that you have the boy's best interests—and those of or beloved church—at heart. We cannot care for him here, and with his sister missing, it is imperative that we give him to those who can best help him find her. Wouldn't you agree?"

"I would and I do."

"Then I will leave the matter in your hands," the archbishop said gravely and turned and walked away.

The monsignor stepped back into the doorway and watched Grisha eating with enthusiasm. Grisha looked up once, but quickly turned his attention back to his bowl of cereal—which he refilled—and the small glass of orange juice. The monsignor stepped out of view and quietly made a phone call.

XXXXXXXXXX

The social worker had finally convinced Amy to provide her real last name, Callen, but Amy had refused to provide any information beyond that except that her mother was dead. This was unexpected news, and the social worker had no way of knowing if Amy was being truthful or not, because she could find no information about a missing child matching Amy's description in any police report or any of the Child Protective Services files. So, she wasn't in the system, at least not in the Los Angeles system, and even though Amy didn't appear to be the victim of child abuse, the death of her mother might explain Amy's steadfast refusal to provide additional details about her father or her home. Perhaps that was the reason she didn't want to go back home? Maybe Amy had come to Los Angeles from a different county or even a different state. That would take time to investigate, and until then, she had no choice but to place Amy in a county home while she tried to sort everything out—and find her missing brother, if she even really had a missing brother. Until the department had Amy's personal information—including her name—verified, they could not place her in a foster home.

XXXXXXXXXX

Grisha was polishing the pews when the woman from the Catholic Children's Home entered from the back. "There he is," the monsignor said as he motioned to the area where Grisha was working. "He says his name is G., so that's what we call him," the monsignor said with a faint smile. "We have no idea what his actual name is."

"Alright," She said softly and the monsignor led her to Grisha.

"G," the monsignor said as he and his companion sat down next to Grisha, "this is Miss Archibald. She's a very good friend of mine."

Miss Archibald, a woman in her mid-30s with soft brown hair and green eyes, put her hand out and smiled, "Hello, G."

Grisha said nothing and didn't take her hand. After a moment, she pulled her hand back. "How old are you, G.?" He said nothing. "I think," she said with a wink, "you must be about ten years old. Would I be right?" He shook his head. "You're older?" she continued with feigned surprise. He shook his head again. "I see," she paused, "well, I have some friends who I think are about your age who would like to meet you. Would you like to meet them?" Grisha said nothing and the monsignor looked worried. But Miss Archibald persisted, "They love to make new friends, and there is a playground and lots of toys. And," she continued with emphasis, "we have chocolate chip cookies every night."

Grisha had no idea what a chocolate chip cookie was, but he remembered sitting in the kitchen at home and watching his mother make cookies and cakes. He and Amy would play piatra-foarfeca-hartie (rock-scissors-paper) to see who got to lick the spoon and who got to lick the bowl.

After a few moments, Miss Archibald stood up and smiled, "Would you like to come with me, G., for a little while at least?" She gazed at Grisha with her smiling eyes and continued, "I will help you find your sister and, if you're not happy, I'll bring both of you back to the church, and Monsignor will take care of you both until your father arrives." Helping him find Amy was true, but everything else was a lie; however, Miss Archibald had learned to lie quite convincingly and found that she got her work done much quicker and much easier with a few little lies. G looked at the monsignor, at the cavernous church, and at Miss Archibald, and then he stood up. She put placed her hand on his shoulder and the two of them walked out through the back of the church as the monsignor watched.

XXXXXXXXXX

Ten weeks later Amy was still housed at the Los Angeles Orphans Home Society in downtown Los Angeles while Child Protective Services continued its search and expanded it to other states. The Catholic Children's Home, around this same time, sent Grisha to his first foster home-that of a member of the local diocese in San Bernardino, sixty miles east of Los Angeles.

Grisha ran away from his foster home after one week and was picked up by the local police the next day, and when a county social worked examined him, she discovered fresh welts across his back and buttocks and sent him to the Children's Baptist Home in Inglewood. It would be years before Grisha would trust another adult.

On a night three months later in Inglewood, Grisha was caught in the bathroom by two teenage boys and beaten and left weeping in the showers, and his sister Amy snuck out of the Los Angeles Orphan Home and drowned in the Los Angeles River. Her body was later found and identified as that of her friend, Hannah Lawson, and the search for her missing brother ceased. That was the night Grisha learned that he would have to learn to survive alone, and he pushed his memory of Amy down until it was forgotten. It was also the last time Grisha cried for many, many years.


End file.
